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Funny how the parents all reacted so differently to our news. Tom Bennett was happy for us, after he got over his initial shock, I think. He never demanded a wedding date, but simply wanted to see that we were happy and that I loved his daughter and was committed to taking care of her and our child. He’d even suggested plans to come over for a visit toward the end of fall, which thrilled Brynne.
Brynne’s mum didn’t ask about a wedding date either. Mrs. Exley was a different story, true, but then she didn’t like me, and I am sure she didn’t like the fact she was going to be a granny either. Too fucking bad for her then. A whole lot of cold silence had met us on the other end of the line when we rang her to share. Brynne hadn’t wanted to tell her mum on Skype as we had done with her dad, and I now understood why. Mum must’ve given off some evil looks when she heard our news and my sweet girl certainly didn’t need to see them. It had been bad enough trying to comfort her after putting down the phone. Yeah, the lines had been drawn in the sand and my opinion set. Brynne’s mum was a judgmental cow who clearly cared about her social position more than she cared about her daughter. Hopefully our dealings would be minimal.
So, yeah, my dad’s insta-hostility over our lack of a wedding date rather took me by surprise. Especially when two ounces of patience would put an end to his rabid concerns.
Within moments, Soot found my lap and made himself comfortable. He stared up at me with clear green eyes as I stroked his sleek shiny coat, wondering how the nice evening had evolved into getting my King Dickhead crown handed to me on a velvet cushion.
“I have a plan,” I said to the cat. “I do. I just haven’t shared with anyone yet.”
Soot blinked his clear green eyes at me in total understanding, and purred.
? Ethan pulled my chair out from the dinner table and helped me up. “I want to show Brynne the garden,” he announced.
“But shouldn’t we help clear away dinner?” I asked.
“No, please, my dear, let Ethan show you his mother’s lovely garden. I want you to see it.” Jonathan’s tone was final on this matter. I didn’t even contemplate arguing.
I looked up at Ethan and took his offered hand in mine. “Well, okay, if you don’t mind. The salmon and béarnaise was really nice. I’m impressed with your cooking skills, Jonathan.” I winked at Marie. “I knew about my aunt being a kitchen witch, but you surprise me.”
Jonathan shrugged. “I had to learn.” I instantly felt bad for reminding everyone of the loss of Ethan’s mom. A young boy had lost his mother, but Jonathan had lost his wife and soul mate. It was such a sad thing, but Jonathan had been prepared with years of practice in dealing with awkward moments like these, and he glided through this one like it was nothing. “Marie and I were quite a duo tonight, though. I did the fish and rice, she did the salad and dessert.” Jonathan flashed my smiling aunt a dashing wink. I wondered if they were . . . dating; a weird thought to think of them together romantically, but one that made me happy if it were true. Maybe they were just friends, but they sure did look cute together. I wondered what Ethan thought about seeing his dad with a woman.
Ethan pressed his hand to my back and led me outside. Soot bounced along ahead of us before jumping onto the brick base of an enormous garden urn flanking a secluded bench surrounded by deep purple larkspur and light blue lavender.
“This is so pretty, just like an English garden on a postcard.” I shrugged up at Ethan, who was looking really intense for a simple garden tour. He had his jaw set tight and a determined expression on his face. “Is it hard for you to see your dad with Marie?” I asked carefully.
He shook his head. “Not at all. Marie’s hot.” He grinned. “Go Dad, I say.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I was a little worried there for a moment. You seemed . . . tense during dinner.”
He pulled me down onto the garden bench and wrapped me in his arms, burying his head at my neck. “Do I seem tense now?” he muttered against my hair.
“Not as much,” I answered with a rub of my fingers at the base of his neck, “but your muscles here are very tight. When are we going to tell them? I thought we would have done it already.”
“We’ll make the announcement when we go back inside. I need a moment alone with you first.”
“I’ll take a moment alone with you.” I smiled into his handsome face looking so intently at me, the illumination from the garden lights reflecting in his blue eyes like tiny sparks. He leaned down to kiss me and swallowed me up with his expert technique. My stomach did a little flip at the sight of him looming, still just as affected by him now as I had been from the first moment we locked eyes that night in the Andersen Gallery back at the beginning of May.
Ethan kissed me in his father’s garden for far more than a moment, but I could have done it all night. His lips and tongue were magic from the beginning and still were. Ethan made me feel precious when he kissed me. No other man had ever made me feel so loved.
He pulled back finally and held my face in his hands. His thumb brushed over my lips in a caress that dragged over my bottom lip just enough to send the message. A “you’re mine” gesture that did strange things to my insides. The simplest touch from Ethan could do that, though, and I was familiar with the feeling by now. It just made me love him more, if that was even possible.
“I bought you something when we were at Hallborough. I found it in an antiques shop when I went into the village and knew it was for you. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give it to you.” He pulled a small rectangular package out of his jacket pocket and placed it in my lap.
“Oh . . . I have a present?” I lifted the package and unwrapped the soft blue tissue. It was a book. A very old and very special book. My heart started thumping hard as I realized precisely what Ethan had given me. “Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems by John Keats?” I choked out in complete shock.
“Do you like it?” Ethan’s expression was hesitant and I realized he might have struggled over this gift, unsure about whether or not I’d enjoy it. An early edition Keats had to cost a fortune, and this one was an early edition. Bound in green leather and still bearing faint gold embossed lettering on the spine, it was a work of art to me.
“Oh my god! Yes, you could say that, baby. This is a beautiful, magnificent gift. I’ll cherish it always.” I carefully opened the cover and held it up to one of the garden lamps to see. “There’s an inscription. ‘For my Marianne. Always, your Darius. June 1837.’ ” I brought a ha
nd up to my neck and looked over at Ethan. “It was a lover’s gift. Darius loved Marianne, and gave her the book.”
“As I love you,” he said softly.
“Oh, Ethan. You’re going to make me cry again if you keep doing things like this.”
“Well, I don’t mind your tears, really. I never have. And especially when they’re not sad ones. You can cry happy anytime you want, baby.” He leaned down to touch his forehead to mine. “I adore the taste of your tears,” he said before pulling back.
I touched his cheek and whispered, “I love you too. And you give me far too expensive gifts.”
